


i see the light

by vivelapluto



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Tangled (2010)
Genre: M/M, One-Shot, Rapunzel!AU, enjolras as rapunzel, taire as flynn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelapluto/pseuds/vivelapluto
Summary: the beginnings of a fairytale, or grantaire, lost in the forest, and enjolras, locked in a tower and yearning for adventure





	i see the light

Grantaire certainly hadn’t meant to become so hopelessly lost, but here he was, in the middle of the woods, with no clue which direction would take him back to civilization. If he weren’t so hungover—and if he actually gave a damn—he would have taken a moment to admire the landscape. Lush greenery, endless as far as the eye could see, dotted with flowers, sunlight peering between the boughs of the trees, a gentle breeze, the soft rustling of the leaves accentuated by the song of a bird. . . 

_ God,  _ he needed another drink.

He continued to traipse through the forest, though at this point, he was fairly certain he was going in circles—he’d definitely seen that particular patch of bluebells before. Huffing out a long sigh, he decided to take a break, maybe try and figure out a plan. Placing his hand on what appeared to be a nearby tangle of tree branches to balance, he promptly stumbled, almost falling over. 

So it wasn’t a tree, after all. It was a cluster of vines, forming a curtain that, as Grantaire peered between them, led to a cascading waterfall and—he almost fell over again when he saw it—a tower. It was tall, taller than any building Grantaire had ever seen before. Had the sky not been clear and the day fair, it would have been shrouded in clouds. He only had a few moments to stare in awe at it though, before he remembered himself.

A tower surely meant people, and people meant either a good drink or someone who was hopefully willing to tell him where to get one. So, pushing through the vines, Grantaire strode towards it.

* * *

 

Enjolras tossed the notebook onto the ever-growing pile, blowing a stray golden curl out of his face. He tugged at another lock of hair with his free hand as he reached for a sheet of paper, still scribbling away.

_ The knight had nearly completed his quest. Now, all that remained was the treacherous journey home . . . _

Biting his lip and deeply engrossed in his work, Enjolras wrote of a brave hero who traveled kingdoms and oceans and deserts, battling dragons and fulfilling prophecies and—

There was a resounding  _ clink  _ that sent reverberations through the tower. Enjolras sat bolt upright, hitting his head on one of the sagging beams of the ceiling, which he was slowly but surely becoming too tall for.

There it was again.

_ Clink.  _ Like the sound of metal hitting stone.

Scrambling to his feet, Enjolras ran over to the window. The sounds continued, drawing closer, closer . . .

He dared to peer outside, just in time to see a hand grasp the railing of the veranda.

Enjolras sprinted back into the tower, looking for something—anything—he could use to defend himself. But weapons had never been permitted. 

He settled for a flying pan, taken from the cabinet above the small stove.

Spinning back towards the window, Enjolras’s eyes widened to see a man standing there, staring right at him.

“Hel—?”

Enjolras swung the pan.

* * *

 

Grantaire didn’t know what had happened last night, but his headache was just  _ awful  _ right about now. Also, he was sitting in a very stiff chair. It was odd—he usually passed out on the daybed at Courfeyrac’s. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he tried to reach up—and realized that his wrists were pinned to the sides of the chair.

“What the—” 

Slowly, the room came into focus. It sure as hell wasn’t Courfeyrac’s house—it was far too tall and the only light came from a singular window. The walls were covered in some sort of garishly-designed paper that made his head spin. It was only when Grantaire squinted that he realized it was parchment, written on in a hurried, slanted script.

He tried to move again, but it was to no avail. Looking down at himself, Grantaire realized he was bound to the chair by some sort of thick, golden rope.

No. 

That wasn’t rope.

It was . . .  _ hair? _

Eyes widening, Grantaire followed the trail of it, winding around himself and across the floor and up along the ceiling, twisting like ivy, until he caught the silhouette of a figure perched atop one of the rafters, barefoot, face shrouded by a curtain of flaxen hair.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the figure said cryptically, nimbly stepping off the rafter.

They grabbed something off a nearby shelf—Grantaire was fairly certain it was a frying pan—before tiptoeing across the floor towards him, head still ducked, face concealed.

“So, uh, I’m sure this has all just been a misunderstanding. If you could just—” Grantaire gestured at the hair as best as he could with his bound hands.

“Who are you. And how did you find this place.” 

It was a question, but it certainly didn’t sound like one.

Grantaire trailed off. “ . . . sorry, what?”

The hair fell away, revealing a man’s face, half hidden behind a frying pan. Blue eyes peered at Grantaire, wide and nervous despite the hard set to his jaw. “I said. Who are you, and how did you find me?”

Grantaire tried for a smile. “It’s kind of a funny story, actually . . .”

The man didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.

He leveled the frying pan. 

Grantaire stopped. Swallowed. Took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to find your secret lair, Blondie—”

“—Enjolras—”

“—bless you. Anyway. I got lost in the woods, this was the first building I saw, so I climbed it.” 

“ _ That’s _ your funny story? And you expect me to believe it?” 

“Okay, so maybe it’s not as funny now that you’ve heard it . . . but seriously, that’s it.”

The man—Enjolras, but Grantaire thought  _ Pretty Boy  _ fit better—lowered the frying pan.

Every thought was forgotten as his face was revealed because God, those eyes were beautiful. Pretty Boy was probably an understatement, really . . .

“Something brought you here. Call it what you will, a mistake, a misunderstanding, but you weren’t meant to find this place.”

Grantaire winked. “Honestly, Sunshine, I’m really glad I did.”

He barely had time to think before the frying pan collided with his head again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is only going to be a one-shot, so i apologize, but i do hope you liked it!


End file.
